Those conversations happened as he rode around his estate, alone, and while Lady Lillian Armstrong was living in London with her family. Her forced presence in the metropolis was a concession to her father, the duke, who didn’t believe that any daughter of his should hide in the country while the scandalmongers, generally peers of lesser status than his own distinguished family, questioned whether Lillian was blameless over the betting and horse race that caused her husband’s demise.
Even as children, Lillian had known more about land and farming than Brent had absorbed from the thick agricultural volumes his father had insisted he read. Though Brent wasn’t so far lost to sanity that he expected an illusory Lillian to reply, talking through farm improvements with someone who understood the rainfall and flooding in this part of England helped him visualize drainage problems, and satisfied his need to discuss Cornwall with someone locally bred and who loved the area as much as Brent did. If Margaret, his quick witted daughter, had grasped the benefits of his one-sided conversations with Lillian, surely his family, as adults, could see how it helped farm planning and staved off loneliness. Margaret’s constant chatter engaged Brent for a large slice of every day, but a child’s chatter was a long way from having a satisfying adult conversation.
Now though, his olfactory senses were conjuring her up in person, or at least sniffing out some unknown woman who favored the citrus scents that surrounded Lillian like a cloud, and alerted everyone to her presence.
Michael stared at him and snorted. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ His friend looking amused, or perhaps bemused.
Brent shook his head again. ‘Must be imagining things. I know only one person who wears that perfume and she mixes it herself, her own blend of citrus fruits. That woman is a lady and a duke’s daughter and certainly wouldn't be attending a courtesan’s ball.’
‘Good God! You don’t mean?’ As Michael was the only family member Brent had allowed stay for more than two nights at his estate, Lillian was well known to him, and she’d once given Michael a tour of her greenhouse and her distilling room and shown him the ingredients for her citrus scent.
‘Shush. Don't even mention her name in this licentious crowd.’ He looked around but thankfully didn't glimpse anyone who might be the woman they whispered about. ‘She's very protective of her private recipe. She wouldn't give it to anyone except one of her sisters. Perhaps one of them has escaped their parents and somehow ventured into this ball. If that's the case, Lillian will be furious when she finds out. As the older sister, she goes out of her way to protect the younger girls, though I’ve always likened that to locking the stable door after the horses have bolted. Her sisters… how shall I put it? They have a tendency to be behave in a reckless manner, no doubt because they often stayed with Lillian during her marriage. They had a ring side seat to every sordid thing that happened to Lillian at the hand of her husband. Geoffrey Armstrong, as we well know, wasn’t a saint. Far from it. If even half the rumors we heard were true, Geoffrey took everything to dangerous extremes. Those ridiculous bets he was notorious for writing in the club betting books. Whoring in every bizarre brothel in London. Mark my words, Lillian’s sisters will have had their eyes opened living in that household.’
Brenton swore under his breath. ‘Damnation! You know what this means? I'm going to have to investigate that citrus scent. Find whoever is wearing a fragrance containing oranges and lemons. I’d like to pretend my senses were mistaken and I didn’t suspect one of the duke’s girls is here and chancing being exposed. Lillian will shoot me if I don’t at least look, and perhaps stop whichever sister it is from falling into disgrace.’
Michael threw back his head and laughed. ‘Sounds simple. Push your way through this crowd and sniff every lady you pass. Can’t wait to see what happens after you’ve stirred up half the women, and men, in that drunken crowd.’
Brenton groaned. ‘What else can I do? Lillian will think me an appalling friend if I don’t search, especially if one of Lillian's sisters has arrived at Browning’s without an invitation. Or been coerced into coming by some rogue who may threaten to expose her in return for favors. Or even worse, the lady might be mistaken for a courtesan. If one of Lillian’s family members is in trouble, I duty bound to save her.’
‘Ah, yes. Mallory the savior of women and their reputations, even Marion the cheat.’
‘I’m going to look anyway. If I locate one of the girls, I must at least see that she leaves, immediately. Get her out of here unnoticed and return her home safely.’
‘Which one could possibly be?’ Michael peered out at dense crowd, as if willing one of the Mitchell sisters to rip off her mask and wave it above her head and give them a better chance to recognize her. ‘Surely they’ve more sense than to venture into this debauchery, and I’d like to believe that no gentleman would bring an innocent lady here.’